


Extremely Cuddly, Shockingly Soft and Lovely

by Marrilyn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Caring Rowena MacLeod, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cute, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, F/F, Fluff, Hugs, Sort Of, Witch Curses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:13:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27138503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marrilyn/pseuds/Marrilyn
Summary: After helping the Winchesters out with a case, Rowena is being unusually affectionate.
Relationships: Rowena MacLeod/You
Comments: 14
Kudos: 31





	Extremely Cuddly, Shockingly Soft and Lovely

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this friend by my lovely friend impala-1979:  
> marril96.tumblr.com/post/631811338821320705/rowenareader-rowena-is-cursed-by-a-witch-into

Of all the ways Rowena could have greeted you, the last thing you expected was a bone-crushing hug. You'd barely said, "Hi," cut off halfway through by her arms around you, squeezing the life out of you. As if it had been months since you'd last seen her as opposed to mere days.

You didn't complain, though, instead returning the hug and squeezing back just as hard. She was warm in your arms. So tiny, so fragile, yes strong beyond belief.

"Well, hello there," you said, breaking into a grin, surprised but welcoming of the strange greeting.

Rowena wasn't a hugger. Or rather, she wasn't much of an initiator. She enjoyed a good cuddle, but she had to be prompted into it. Making the first step was beneath her, though, a few rare times, she allowed herself to snuggle in unprompted.

She'd gone to help Sam and Dean on a case a few days ago, and you were already missing her. The home was empty without her. The bed you shared cold, lifeless. Your body lacking hers to warm up with, to feel safe, at home.

You'd texted and video chatted countless times, but it wasn't the same. Nothing beat having her in your arms, safe and sound.

A part of you regretted not going with her. She'd made it more than clear that you were welcome to accompany her, just like all those times before. Against your heart's wishes, you'd opted not to. It was a fairly simple case, after all. An out of control witch. Nothing the three of them couldn't handle on their own.

You'd regretted that decision the moment the door had closed behind her on her way out.

Codependence wasn't healthy; you were more than aware of that. But still.

But _still._

Now that you had her with you, you never wanted to let her go again.

To your utmost surprise, Rowena seemed to share the sentiment.

"Are you okay, baby?" you asked, baffled by the way she clung to you. So tight, a koala clinging to a tree branch. "Did something happen?"

She nuzzled your chest like an overly affectionate cat. "Everything is fine." Her voice was soft, lovely. Cotton candy and silk mixed into one. You wanted to melt in it.

You didn't buy it, but you let it go. Who were you to look gift hugs in the mouth?

"I missed you," you whispered, kissing her hair.

"I missed you, too, darling." She tightened her grip, Pressing her face against your chest.

You enjoyed the moment too much to chastise her for ruining your shirt. Makeup could be washed off. It wasn't every day that your girl initiated affection — to this degree, no less. A dirty shirt was a more than fair price to pay.

As the two of you settled in the living room to talk about her travels, Rowena remained by your side. Literally glued to you, as if you were bound at the hip. As she talked of tracking down the witch and killing her, her head was on your shoulder, one hand firmly in yours, fingers twined in an almost unbreakable knot.

When she got up to make tea, she dragged you with her to the kitchen, one hand on the kettle and the other holding yours. Gripping it with impossible strength so that you couldn't break away.

Your questions if something bad had happened had gone unanswered.

Maybe she'd remembered Lucifer again. Maybe something had triggered her — again, like many times before — along the way, and she didn't want to be alone like she was that day in May of 2017 when he showed up and messed her up for life. When, following a meaningless argument, you'd left to blow off some steam, and had returned to a bloodbath and a charred corpse in the middle of the hotel room.

Maybe she wanted to make sure that you were here. That, this time around, you wouldn't leave. That she wasn't alone.

You didn't have the heart to take it away from her.

So you remained at her side. You allowed her to drag you around the house, to cling to you as she sat beside you. Even when she squeezed too tight and it was hard to breathe, you didn't say a word.

Let her have her fantasy. Let her have her feeling of safety. You'd promised her, after she'd healed, that you would never leave her again, and you intended to make good on it.

Besides, it felt nice to have her so close. It felt nice to snuggle up without having to coax her into it. To, for once in your life, not have to be the instigator. Rowena was affectionate; she loved cuddles and snuggles. She loved kisses and nuzzles and sweet promises of love. Not once did you doubt that she loved you the same way you loved her. She was just different. More closed off, due to her background.

But, gods, you enjoyed this open side of her immensely. However short it may be, you decided to make the most of it.

"I love you, Y/N."

She'd said it multiple times over the last few hours, and you'd returned each one. It was music to your ears, a lullaby you could fall asleep to every night.

Whatever had happened must have shaken her. But she was safe now. That was all that mattered. She would never be unsafe again, not while she was with you. Not while you could wrap her in your embrace and nuzzle her hair and tell her you loved her over and over again, for as long as she was willing to listen. For as long as she was willing to say it back.

To your great surprise, Rowena insisted on making dinner. Your favorite, she said. She would make it exactly as you liked it.

Blinking twice, three times, four, to make sure you hadn't been transported to an alternate reality without noticing, you asked, "Since when do you cook?"

"Can't I treat my girlfriend to a lovely homemade meal every once in a while?" she said, looking through cupboards for the kitchenware. Sorting the items she needed on the island, neatly and in order as she did when she worked on potions.

It was more like once in every few years, but you decided not to comment. Who were you to say no to a homemade meal? It was surely better, much more intimate, than being treated to restaurant dinners (which you always welcomed. Rowena had impeccable taste, and she never failed to impress).

"Okay," you said, still baffled by her behavior. Was she truly shaken up by something, or was something else going on?

Your heart jumped, nervous tingles slipping down the back of your neck like an army of angry ants. Had you forgotten an important date? An anniversary of some sort?

You cleared your throat. Mentally prepared yourself for the ire she would unleash on you for forgetting whatever it was that had taken place on this day. In your defense, you'd never been the best with days. Hopefully, Rowena would take that into consideration before she obliterated you. "Are-are we celebrating something? Did I forget something again?"

Rowena laughed, a sweet, delicious melody. Harmless. "I'm just making you dinner, Y/N." You breathed out in relief, muscles springing free of tension that had strung them stiff. "You're acting as if I never do anything nice for you."

You shrugged, because she didn't. Not like this. She didn't cuddle so much. She didn't make the first move. She didn't tell you she loved you so frequently, so earnestly. She didn't make you dinner from scratch and act like it was the most normal thing in the world.

None of this was normal.

It both scared and intrigued you.

Rowena pouted and, walking over, pressed her forehead to your chest like an injured, attention-starved kitten.

Your heart just about exploded with guilt, with regret that ate at you like acid. "I didn't mean it like that," you said, rubbing her back in the gentlest of circles. What had gotten into her today?

She looked up at you. Narrowed her eyes as if in thought. "I may forgive you if you kiss me."

Seriously? Since when did she ask for a kiss instead of taking it? Since when did she bury her face into your shirt and pout until she got what she wanted?

That was usually your tactic.

"You drive a hard bargain," you teased, cupping her cheeks into your palms with utmost tenderness and laying a kiss, soft as silk, to her forehead. Then one to the tip of her nose, and another, the cherry on top, on her lips.

"Good girl," Rowena said, and, with a flash of a smile, went back to work on dinner. "You're forgiven. For now." She winked.

"You're mean," you told her.

"Me?" she clasped a hand over her heart dramatically. "Never."

Right. She was Miss Goody Two-Shoes. As if. You chuckled.

"Why would I be mean when I love you?"

So she kept saying. You never tired of hearing it, no matter how strange it was. How unlike her.

"To assert dominance?" you joked.

She raised an eyebrow. You blew her a raspberry.

"Mature, darling."

You gave a shrug. "That's just me saying I love you back."

Rowena grinned, and walked over for another kiss. As if she needed the assurance. As if she needed to feel you, to touch you, to make sure you meant it. As if, otherwise, it would all be a lie. You gave in to it because why wouldn't you? Strange as it was, it cost you nothing. When she got over whatever it was she was going through, she would go back to normal. For now, you decided to enjoy this needy, clingy side of her.

The meal turned out incredible. Rowena, by her own choice, wasn't a cook, but when she put her mind to it, she could whip out incredible food. As magical as the potions she always made. Just as crafty, just as professional.

She marveled in your praise as you ate, and pulled you into an embrace as you finished, beaming like the sun on a summer afternoon. Beautiful and bright, without a cloud in sight.

"I really loved it," you said, kissing her cheek to emphasize it. "You should cook more often."

"I shall cook for you every day," Rowena vowed.

You highly doubted that, but you went along with it. "Think you could make filet mignon tomorrow?"

She looked you in the eyes, serious as a storm. "The best you've ever had."

"Deal."

She caressed your scalp. "Why don't you sit here and relax while I clean up?"

You looked at her as if she'd suddenly grown a second head. Since when did she volunteer to clean up? Since when did she look so gleeful at the mere thought of it? Last time she was home, she rolled her eyes all the way through, complaining that there wasn't a spell to speed up the process and vowing to create her own. Tonight was supposed to be your turn to do it. "For real?"

"Aye. Let the food settle, won't you?" She patted your stomach affectionately and started gathering the dirty dishes.

You blinked, baffled. Sure this had to be some sort of a joke, though she appeared one hundred percent serious.

"Okay…" you said, unsure, though you tried not to dwell on it. You were no fan of chores, either.

As she cleared out the table and wiped it, thoroughly, with a cloth, she kissed your forehead, then committed to doing the dishes. Every now and again, she would throw a glance at you, making sure you were still where she'd left you. Making sure you hadn't left.

You were growing to enjoy this side of her. It was odd and different and it would surely not last for more than a few days, at most, but it was sweet. _She_ was sweet; sugary, to a level most people would find disgusting, but you reveled in. You just hoped she eventually told you what was going on. A change like this, you deserved to know the reason for.

A sudden vibrating sound startled you. Your phone, abandoned on the coffee table, was buzzing, the screen flashing as bright as a lamp. Grabbing it, you were surprised to see it was Sam who was calling. You sighed, frustrated. What had happened now? Did the Winchesters need Rowena — again? If so, why didn't they call her? You doubted they wanted your help. Who went to the student when they could go straight to the teacher?

"Hello," you said, uncertain.

"Hey, Y/N." Sam was polite. Friendly as always. You were no fan of hunters, but you appreciated it. Out of them all, he seemed like the most trustworthy. "Has Rowena gotten home?"

"Yup. Hours ago."

Rowena raised an eyebrow. You shot her a smile, prompting her to keep on washing plates.

Sam breathed out loudly. Was that relief you were detecting? "She okay?"

Uh oh. "Is there a reason she shouldn't be?"

"I—"

"We need you to check her pockets," Dean cut in. No nonsense, straight to the point as always.

"Why?" you asked.

"Has she been acting weird?"

 _Weird_ would be an understatement. Heart jumping with concern, you said, "Well, I mean, she…" _She's been cuddly as an attention-hungry kitten._ You cleared your throat. "She's been a bit… odd."

It wasn't something bad, was it?

Cold chills slid down the back of your neck, thin and prickly as needles.

Was it?!

"Check her pockets," Dean told you. "She might be cursed. Jack was acting weird all day, and we just found a hex bag in his pocket."

Cursed? Rowena could be cursed?

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit!

It was obvious, now that you thought about it. Of course she was cursed. Why else would she glue herself to you as if you were conjoined twins? Why else would she volunteer to make dinner for no special occasion — your favorite, at that — and insist that she do the dishes? Why else would she be so fucking squishy?

"On it. Thanks for letting me know."

As soon as you hung up, you were on your feet, heart racing, concern rising. _Please, don't be a bad one,_ you prayed to any deity willing to listen. _Please, please, please._ The witch they'd faced was powerful, Rowena had told you. Dangerous. Sadistic. A radical change of behavior in her victims was certainly just the beginning.

You had no intention to see how it ended. Enough time had passed already. Hopefully, you'd managed to catch on to it in time, before something serious — something cruel, deadly — took effect.

"A friend?" Rowena inquired, raising a curious eyebrow.

"Sam and Dean."

"Ah. Checking up on me, are they?"

She had no idea.

As you got close, she did what she'd been doing all day and threw her arms around you. You sank into the embrace, let her curl around you like a piece of a puzzle perfectly nesting into place. Your hands slid down to her hips, felt for the pockets of her dress pants. Fingers slithered in as soon as they found them.

Your right fingertip brushed against a rough fabric, and relief instantly flooded you, a welcome, much needed high. Grabbing the small pouch, you threw it down. Swiftly, forcefully, as if it were poison deadly to the touch.

"What are you—" Rowena's eyes trailed yours, widening at the sight of the hex bag. Tiny. The color of rust. Almost harmless, lying all alone, abandoned, on the floor.

You spat, _"Ignis." Fire._

The bag instantly burst into flames. Bright and orange, they devoured it, ate it from the inside out like acid, until it was nothing but a pile of ash. Fragile. Easily scattered. Powerless.

Rowena stared at it. She did nothing, said nothing, just stared at the grayish-black remains of the hex bag. Her arms were limp at her sides. Lips tight in an unreadable line.

"Rowena?" you said, concerned. "You okay?"

No reaction. No acknowledgement.

Nothing.

"Baby?"

She swallowed.

You reached for her hand, only to be pushed away. The rejection stung like a slap to the face.

Was this the aftermath of the curse? Was she shaken up about being snapped out of it so suddenly?

"Rowena, sweetie—"

"I was cursed." Her voice was cold. Distant.

"Yup. Sam and Dean said Jack was cursed, and they wanted me to check your pockets, to make sure."

Good thing they did, otherwise… Something would have happened. Something bad. You didn't know what, but you could guarantee it was nothing good. Evil witches didn't hex people who were after them mildly. Rowena, a former evil witch herself, would know that better than anyone.

"But you're okay now," you said. "Right?"

She gave a nod.

At least there was that.

A moment passed in silence, then Rowena uttered, "You didn't notice."

"What?"

"I wasn't myself, and you didn't notice."

Was that offense in her tone?

"It's not like that," you said, guilt lacing your words. "I just figured you were going through some stuff."

She stared at you, incredulous. "Like being cursed?"

She _was_ offended. She was _mad._

 _Shit._ You swallowed. "Well…"

Thinking of it now, it was obvious. She hadn't been herself. Had been acting too different, too strange. Too unlike the woman you'd gotten to know in the past six years.

Rowena gasped. Dramatic. Exaggerated. Over the top. Her usual style. You sighed, mentally preparing yourself for the blow up. _Here we go._

"How could you not notice? It was right in your bloody face!" she exclaimed in that tone that both intimidated and intrigued you, the one veteran theater actresses would envy. "Do I look like a bloody attention whore?"

"Is that a rhetorical question?"

She scowled as if you'd insulted her. Which, to be fair, you probably had. Raising her forefinger threateningly (not that you were truly afraid.She could be intimidating, but you never feared her), in your face, she snapped, "Don't be a smartarse!"

You shrugged, nonchalant. She was dramatic. You were a smartass. Some things were just facts.

"You liked it, didn't you?"

"What?"

"You liked me slobbering all over you like a diseased cat and waiting on you hand and foot." She crossed her arms. Her expression softened, mellowed into something you couldn't quite put your finger on. Something… sad.

Was that what she thought? That you didn't notice her being cursed because you enjoyed taking advantage of her? That you jumped at the chance?

It was your turn to be offended. "I can't believe you just said that."

"What am I supposed to think?"

"You're supposed to know me better than that."

"You are supposed to know me, as well, and look how that turned out."

Seriously? She was going there? You supposed you shouldn't be surprised; when Rowena kicked, she aimed for the lowest area. Not just because of her height.

"I thought something triggered you while you were working the case!" you exclaimed. "I didn't wanna say anything because I figured you just wanted to cuddle for a day or two, and you'd be back to normal. It's happened in the past!"

You didn't want to bring it up, but if she was going to be a bitch, you might as well make her face the truth. You felt bad for not noticing. Felt guilty. But there have been times, in the past, when she remembered Lucifer, and all she needed was some love, some sense of safety for a little while until the fear subsided. The two of you never talked about it; you'd had a consensus, a wordless agreement to let it happen.

So you let it happen.

It was harmless, usually. Just some cuddles and kisses. How were you to know a curse would make her exhibit the same symptoms?

Rowena had the decency to look ashamed. Eyes falling to her feet, avoiding yours for as much as they could, she said, "I know I'm not the most affectionate person."

"Are you kidding? You're the cuddliest witch I know!" She leveled you with a stare that threatened murder. You grinned. She rolled her eyes. "I'm serious. I admit, it was nice to see you take more of an initiative, but I don't think there's anything… lacking with the way you usually are. I wouldn't have you any other way."

She cracked a small smile. "Sap."

"You made me do it!" you accused jokingly.

She sighed. "What am I going to do with you?"

"How about a hug?" She gave you a look, one of those she reserved for when you did something incredibly stupid and she had no words to encompass it. "Please?"

"Maybe a small one," she relented after a moment of thought.

Giggling, you threw your arms around her and squeezed as hard as you could.

"Y/N!" Rowena protested.

"I can't help it!" you said, ecstatic. "You're just so squishy!"

"And you're mean!" she whined.

You could live with that.

She pouted for a few seconds before returning the hug and nestling comfortably against you, exactly where she belonged. Safe and sound and, most important of all, content. Happy, though she would never say it out loud.

"Say, Rowena..." you said, uncertain how to best approach the issue. "About that filet mignon you promised…"

"Don't even think about it."

You figured as much.

But it was okay. Because _she_ was okay. She was unharmed. Herself. _Yours,_ exactly as she was, with all her sides, good and bad.

Overly affectionate or not, she would always be your girl. There wasn't a single thing she could do to make you love her less. Laughter, tears, joy, grief, happiness, fear; you'd been through it all, and hadn't regretted a thing. Would do it all over again in a heartbeat.

But… damn, you were really looking forward to that filet mignon.

**Author's Note:**

> Edited by miss-moon-guardian.


End file.
